“As fast as I can, and with Mr. Beeson also, if he chooses,” said she. “I have my manners in mind, too.”
“By gosh, I don’t walk with ye,” he jawed. And in a huff, like the big boy that he was, he flounced about, vengefully striding on as though punishing her for a misdemeanor.
She dropped the grinning group a little curtsy. A demure sparkle was in her eyes.
“The entertainment is concluded, gentlemen. I wish you good-night.”
Yet underneath her raillery and self-possession there lay an appeal, the stronger because subtle and unvoiced. It seemed to me every man must appreciate that as a woman she invoked protection by him against an impending something, of which she had given him a glimpse.
So we left them somewhat subdued, gazing after us, their rugged faces sobered reflectively.
“Shall we stroll?” she asked.
“With pleasure,” I agreed.
Daniel was angrily shouldering for the Mormon 215 wagons, his indignant figure black against the western glow. She laughed lightly.
“You’re not afraid, after all, I see.”